


Only Time Will Tell

by gaudy_night



Series: Jim Gordon's Life As a Series of Clichés [4]
Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-01
Updated: 2009-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-29 03:14:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30149883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaudy_night/pseuds/gaudy_night
Summary: Bruce Wayne realizes the necessity of waiting.
Relationships: Jim Gordon/Bruce Wayne
Series: Jim Gordon's Life As a Series of Clichés [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2219031
Kudos: 7





	1. Chapter 1

For their next lunch appointment that Wednesday, Wayne decided on a quiet American bistro. He chose this tranquil location with its veranda and panoramic view of the city skyline for reasons of privacy. High and far above from the prying eyes of the paparazzi and the rest of the world, billionaire Bruce Wayne and Commissioner Jim Gordon could sit down and enjoy lunch al fresco without fear of outside interruption. The infamous playboy had a tendency to pick up shameless admirers wherever he went, and while Gordon seemed to find it extremely amusing, Wayne most categorically did not. He despised putting on the façade to uphold the general public’s notion of him and maintain his flighty reputation, but it was such a nuisance. It always had been and perhaps always would be, but now was definitely not the time—not when he was looking to make serious headway with one James Worthington Gordon.

Wayne had wanted to see more of Gordon. After all, that was why they were here. But even more than that, he wanted Gordon to see him as something more than what the news media portrayed him to be. His life seemed like an endless masquerade, and he wanted at least one mask removed. That was the easy part, but there _was_ another. Batman wasn’t even part of the equation. Not yet, anyway. Wayne desperately wanted Jim Gordon, but he didn’t want the older man clinging to him out of a misplaced sense of gratitude or worse. It was a delicate and fragile game he was playing, and it was very similar to building a house of cards. A steady hand, a lot of patience, and most important of all, a solid foundation—that was what Wayne was attempting to do. He had been honest with old Marge. He knew exactly what he was doing. The rules of the game were simple so far. He couldn’t appear to be too obvious in fear that Gordon would outright reject his overtures. The older man was good at his job. He was smart, but Wayne was quickly learning those finely honed instincts weren’t translating too well into personal relationships—or maybe, just maybe, the man was giving Wayne too much credit and he was fine with letting these shenanigans continue.

Wayne considered the possibility for a moment. Then he thought, _Nah._ So he continued with his original plan. _Take it easy, Wayne. Take it one step at a time._ He mused, _Nothing ventured, nothing gained—right?_ But yet here they were six “dates” later, and what did the infamous playboy have to show for it? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Gordon was being firmly oblivious to the other man’s subtle and the occasional not-so-subtle advances, and Wayne was finding it hard to believe this was the same man who had singlehandedly outsmarted the Joker and saved Batman’s life. It was almost surreal. But yet here he was sitting across from him, enjoying his soup and being his naive self.

 _Oh, Jim_ , Wayne sighed, but he took some measure of comfort knowing Gordon seemed to be enjoying his company. He was finally loosening up a bit. At least, _that_ part of Wayne’s plan was going well. The past six dates—well, only Wayne called them that, but Gordon called them _appointments_ —had been predictably awkward at first. Wayne was pleased nonetheless. Wasn’t that all part of the game? Whether Gordon knew it or not, he was making Wayne work for it, and Wayne loved nothing more than a real challenge. The awkward silences, the uncomfortable glances here and there, the stilted dialogue, and then finally, the relief of finding easy conversation at last—it was all part of their little game. And it was one game Wayne wasn’t planning on losing.

Unfortunately, Gordon had tried to squirm his way out of the “game” on day one. Fortunately, Wayne was already a move ahead. _Thank you, Marge!_ Gordon had quickly run out of excuses, and Wayne had been so persistent that Gordon could have hardly turned him down without being outright rude. He had reluctantly picked up his coat and followed Wayne out of the precinct. But had he turned around, he would have seen his secretary smirking at the two of them leaving together for lunch and his entire bullpen exchanging speculative glances with one another. It was probably a good thing he didn’t, then.

On that first day, Wayne had taken Gordon to a horribly overpriced Italian restaurant. Gordon had looked around them and seen several high-profile Gothamites conducting their business over a power lunch. _Wow, so this is how the other half lives._ He saw them looking over at his table and assuming the same. Gordon had laughed inwardly. _We sure fooled them!_ Then he stopped himself. _We? Wait a minute_ , he thought. _What are_ we _doing here, anyway?_

The billionaire’s motives were yet unclear to him. Like the proverbial bad penny, Wayne had kept turning up at his office door. It was nice, actually, but Gordon couldn’t help but wonder, _What does he want from me?_ Gordon couldn’t think of anything he could offer the billionaire that the man couldn’t buy himself several times over. He had been commissioner long enough to learn men in his position were expected to play games of give and take, but then again, Gordon was never the type to play games.

Before they had even gotten in the car earlier that day, he had asked Wayne point-blank, “Mr. Wayne—” The younger man had given him a look of mock reproach, and Gordon had responded a little harsher than he’d intended, “ _Bruce, what do you want from me?_ ” An unreadable look flickered over the younger man’s face. Gordon thought he saw hurt and confusion. He mentally kicked himself and quickly added, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful—”

But Wayne had just laughed. _Gotcha again!_ Hurt and confusion quickly gave way to amusement and… something else Gordon wasn’t sure how to identify.

“Oh, Jim. You gotta learn to relax once in a while.” Wayne pushed him into the Lamborghini and off they went. Later at the restaurant, Wayne answered the question honestly and sincerely. “I just want to be your friend.”

Gordon had immediately felt chastened and tried to apologize once again for his earlier outburst, but Wayne just laughed it off. Then they had calamari, and that was that.

On the way back to the precinct, Gordon had barely made it back in time for work. When Wayne suggested another lunch appointment later that week, Gordon replied he wasn’t sure about his schedule for the rest of the week. Wayne opened his mouth as if to say something but shut it promptly. Gordon thanked him for lunch and got out of the car. Back in his office, Gordon had wondered if Wayne would come by again. He didn’t have to wait long. Sure enough, Wayne was back the very next day. Gordon’s schedule was once again clear, so off they went.

But that second time, Gordon insisted that he paid. After all, Wayne had picked up the check twice in a row. Wayne reluctantly agreed, and so they alternated. As they made their rounds through Gotham’s finest and not-so-finest establishments, Wayne was learning more and more about Gordon. The man enjoyed a cheap diner over a pricey bistro. He didn’t mind grabbing a sandwich from a corner shop or a hot dog from a stand or truck and calling it lunch. Wayne just raised a manicured eyebrow at these choices, but he didn’t mind. He cataloged it all. It was fun learning about Jim Gordon. He noticed when the older man got a haircut and his ears stuck out a little. He noticed Gordon’s choices didn’t stray too far from the usual. In less than two weeks, Wayne could probably order for the man and be close to the mark, if not hit it exactly in the bull’s eye.

It soon grew to be a familiar sight at the precinct, the billionaire waltzing in and whisking away the commissioner for an hour at a time—no more, no less. Gordon had always been a stickler for things like that. The building grew to recognize the familiar screeching sound of tires coming to a fast stop as Wayne’s Lamborghini or Ferrari. Wayne usually pulled up promptly a minute or two before one o’clock to pick up Gordon, and then exactly one hour later, the screeching tires signaled Commissioner Gordon was back on duty.

 _So far, so good,_ Wayne mused.

The purpose of these lunch dates was to get to know Jim Gordon on a different plane and build a personal rapport with the man. It was worth the slight inconvenience of getting up at an incredibly early time for him and putting up with Alfred’s raised eyebrows. Wayne ignored the old coot, even though the butler undoubtedly already knew what was going on. Wayne thought Alfred looked at him sympathetically as he left this afternoon, but he wasn’t sure if it was directed more toward him or the commissioner.

 _Oh, well,_ Wayne figured. _At least I have Jim all to myself._ He looked across the table at his lunch companion once more and smiled in anticipation. _Today’s the day._ Two weeks had been long enough. Wayne was intent on, for lack of a better term, feeling out Gordon and see what the man thought about the possibility of… well, _them_. It was nerve-wracking, but it was now or never. At least, that’s what Wayne told himself. Truth be told, he could afford to wait it out longer, but patience never was one of his stronger virtues.

 _How do I do this?_ Wayne looked around them and noticed another—he knew Gordon would flinch if Wayne ever said the word aloud— _couple_ sitting at a table a few feet away. He surreptitiously watched two men, obviously enraptured with one another. Wayne watched them with more than a touch of envy. Gordon looked over as well and squinted, and then he returned his attention to his bowl of soup.

 _It’s now or never, Wayne. Ask him what he thinks!_ Wayne tentatively probed, “So, uh, what do you think, Jim?”

“It’s very good,” Gordon nodded, and Wayne let out a premature sigh of relief. “I wasn’t sure between ordering the salad or soup… but, er, I’m glad I, um, went with the soup.” He added that last part awkwardly. Having lunch with Bruce Wayne was apparently still taking some getting used to.

Wayne groaned inwardly. _The damned soup?_ _Are you kidding me, Jim?_ He agreed weakly, “Yeah, good choice.” _Oh, Jim._

His conscience asked, _Why do you insist on putting yourself through this torture, Wayne?_ And they both answered in unison, _Because we_ like _it. We enjoy torturing ourselves._ They knew that already.

But Wayne also wanted some indication that _this_ wasn’t destined to be one-sided forever. He wanted some confirmation that their, well, _Batman_ and Gordon’s solemn pact— _now we’re two_ —could reach far beyond their working relationship and could extend beyond their respective roles as the commissioner and the Batman.

 _One day at a time, Wayne_. He understood that. He understood all too well he had embarked on the impossible. Well, _seemingly_ impossible. _If Jim Gordon knew the plans I have in mind, the man would take off running for the hills_. He resorted to observing his lunch companion. In the sunlight, the older man’s eyes seemed incredibly bluer than before. Even bluer when he removed his glasses to wipe them clean. _Those eyes…_ Wayne had never noticed before how surprisingly clear and expressive they were, how they revealed everything the man was thinking. Batman might have missed those eyes during their short-lived rendezvous shrouded in darkness, but Bruce Wayne certainly was making up for the vigilante’s inattentiveness now—

The waiter came, interrupting his meandering thoughts. He replaced Gordon’s soup with grilled fish and almond and herb rice pilaf and Wayne’s salad with filet mignon with mushrooms and sweet peppers.

Gordon looked up, a guileless smile on his tired face. He’d been working late nights again. “What is it, Bruce?”

 _Nothing ventured, nothing gained._ Wayne made a subtle gesture toward the other table. The two men were now holding hands and looking at each other across the table. “Look over there.”

Gordon half-turned and looked.

Wayne casually asked, “What do you think?” He held his breath once more.

Gordon furrowed his brow in thought. “Oh, the lobster ravioli? Yeah, I was going to try that, but I already had it two weeks ago at that Italian place you took me to. I wanted to try something different today.”

 _What the hell?_ Wayne just looked at him, schooling his handsome features to conceal his exasperation. _Roll with the punches, Wayne._ “Oh, do you like trying new things?” he asked in innocent curiosity.

Gordon smiled self-deprecatingly. “No, not really. I’m pretty much a homebody. When I’m not home, I’m at work. There’s a lot of work to do.” He knew how boring he sounded, but he wasn’t about to pretend otherwise. But Wayne looked disappointed, and Gordon tried to backtrack. “Well, I, uh… when I’m not busy, I guess I could… er… try something different… um, if, uh… it’s, er…” he trailed off looking a little perturbed at himself. He cleared his throat.

 _This is going to be hard,_ Wayne thought.

 _You’re already hard,_ an annoying voice in the back of his head slipped in.

He ignored it. “You know what they say, Jim. Change is good for you,” he smiled a harmless smile. _Yeah, I’m as harmless as a sex-crazed, bordering-on-psychotic, wanted vigilante who wants to jump your bones and make you walk like an old man for days._ He smiled disarmingly again, but he immediately dropped it when Gordon’s face closed a little. _Shit_. “What is it? Did I say something wrong?”

Gordon looked as if he wanted to say something, but turned his head away instead. He tried for a dismissive smile. “It’s nothing.”

“Jim?”

Gordon shook his head, but the man obviously wanted to talk.

Wayne crossed his arms in mock disapproval. “Try me.”

Gordon eyed him warily for a moment. Then he spoke gruffly, “My wife, um, she…” He rubbed his forehead in frustration. He visibly summoned strength to continue. He corrected himself, “ _Ex-_ wife. She… we’re… I finally signed the divorce papers yesterday.”

Wayne had all but forgotten Gordon was in the middle of divorce proceedings. “I’m sorry, Jim. I had heard… I’m very sorry.” He yearned to reach over and grasp the man’s hand comfortingly, but he settled for a somber nod instead. But he couldn’t help himself. “So, it’s final?”

But he couldn’t help but notice Gordon was still wearing his wedding ring. His heart sunk as he watched Gordon subconsciously play with it, twisting and turning it about his finger. And that’s when realization dawned, and Wayne received the answer he was looking for. Gordon was far from thinking about possibilities, let alone possibilities of them together. The man was not ready to let go. He wasn’t ready to move on. Not yet. His gaze fell on the ring once more.

Gordon looked stricken, but he nodded. “In about a month. It’s for the best, you know.” He sounded like a man trying to convince himself of a lie. “Our kids… I didn’t fight for custody. It’s not safe here. She was right to do that. I’m not…” he stopped and looked down.

“I’m sorry, Jim,” repeated Wayne. What else _could_ he say? He truly felt for the man.

Gordon just shrugged, but it was clear to see he was utterly devastated. “Don’t be. It’s not your fault.”

At that, Wayne flinched. _Might as well have been_. Long hours and late nights were not conducive to a happy marriage. Add to that a faked death, a homicidal maniac, an insane district attorney kidnapping and holding his entire family at gunpoint, and then quickly came the aftermath and the confusion—there had been precious little time to adjust, let alone recover.

Wayne cleared his throat. “Are you okay?”

“No.” Gordon paused for a long moment. He was thinking of that fateful night as well. In his mind’s eye, he could clearly see the fear and hurt on Barbara’s face. And in the days and weeks afterward, the impossible grief and quiet stillness that lingered on in their home. Even after that traumatic event, they couldn’t go to anyone else for help. No one else could know what really happened that night. Batman and Gordon weren’t the only ones who knew the truth. Barbara and the children had been there as well. They’d had to live with the lie, too. It should have drawn their family closer together, but instead, it ripped them apart. Gordon tried to be there for his wife and children, but he was being pulled in every direction. She said she’d forgiven him, but Gordon couldn’t even forgive himself. His wife and children were held at gunpoint because he couldn’t do his job right. After thousands of hours working himself to the bone and after fifteen hard years he spent investing his heart and soul to save Gotham—it had all come down to this. A single blow of judgment and sacrifice as Gordon was judged for his sins and his family was made the innocent sacrifice.

“Jim,” Wayne tried to get his attention. “Jim, are you all right?”

“No,” Gordon answered simply. There was no bitterness in his tone. He had no right. “No, I’m not… but… but I will be.”

Wayne nodded. _Yes, you will._

Then Gordon met his eyes. He was drowning in a sea of helplessness, and Wayne could almost hear the unspoken remainder of the sentence. _What other choice do I have?_

He wanted to reach for Gordon, but he couldn’t. He had no right. He had no permission to do so. A slightly uncomfortable silence fell upon them for several minutes. The food in front of them was growing cold.

Eventually, Gordon spoke again. “Sorry about the, um, the TMI.”

“The what?” Wayne looked puzzled.

“Too much information,” Gordon explained, but Wayne was giving him a blank look. Gordon muttered, “Montoya says it all the time. I thought I was the only one who didn’t know what the hell she was saying.”

 _The TMI? What the… oh, I see…_ “Ah,” Wayne let out as comprehension dawned. Despite the gravity of their conversation, he couldn’t help but give a sharp laugh. “No, Jim. It’s just TMI.”

“I know.” Gordon looked embarrassed. “I didn’t want to bring it up—”

“No, you’re fine,” Wayne quickly moved to cut him off. He tried to explain, “I’m not talking about the divorce. I’m talking about the slang. It’s just TMI. There’s no ‘the’ in front of it.” Gordon now looked confused, so Wayne let it drop. “Never mind,” he muttered and fought to keep from rolling his eyes. _Oh, Jim._ He wanted to laugh out loud but now was probably not a good time. He looked across the table at Gordon, and their eyes met.

The older man looked self-conscious. “Um, sorry about bringing the, uh, the divorce up.”

“Not at all. What are friends for?” Wayne replied, and he truly meant it.

For the first time that day, Gordon gave him a genuine smile. He picked up his fork and looked for the entire world as if he were digging into his lunch. In reality, he was just moving food around on his plate. Wayne watched him for a moment, noted the ring on the older man’s finger again, and began to work on his steak as well.

The fact did not escape him that this would be a long, arduous journey. The reconstruction of Wayne Manor was nothing compared to this. That building project simply paled in comparison to the flimsy house of cards he had begun.

Though his heart ached for Gordon, in a small way, he was glad he could be there for the man. Their time today had not gone as he had planned, but he _was_ learning more and more about Jim Gordon. Gordon was clearly not a man who was flippant about relationships. Wayne could have told anyone that before, but now he _knew_ for certain, and it could only bode well for their future together.


	2. Chapter 2

Their very next lunch “appointment” the following day began in much the same way their previous one ended. Jim Gordon was picking at his food again, and Bruce Wayne tried not to be too obvious about drinking in Gordon with his eyes. Despite the understandably melancholy air that hung about the older man, Wayne had still asked Gordon to join him for lunch this day, and surprisingly the other man had accepted without demur. Wayne knew he was probably skating on thin ice here, but he could hardly stay away from Gordon. Not when they could be enjoying each other’s company _this_ close. Gordon was sitting less than an arm’s length away from Wayne, and to have the man so close yet so far was nearly his undoing.

 _Oh my God._ It was torture.

Wayne wanted to know everything about the man sitting across from him. He wanted to know information beyond that which could be easily found in public records and personnel files. He already knew all of that. A devilish smirk appeared on his handsome features. What he truly wanted was “information” about Jim Gordon that only the man himself could give him firsthand, and his cock twitched in delight at the thought. _‘Information,’ heh._

 _Really, Wayne,_ his conscience asserted, _is now really the appropriate time for this?_

 _Probably not_ , Wayne admitted. He took a deep breath in an attempt to steady himself, but his imagination lurched into overdrive without him. _What kind of ‘information’ am I looking for, you ask? To start with, the warmth and feel of his skin as I slide my hands across the planes of his body. The look of hunger in his eyes as he responds to my slightest touch. The fine trembling of his body as my fingers touch him… everywhere. I could start with those. And then—_

An annoying voice cut in, _Wayne, you’re an idiot._

Wayne ignored it. Instead, he focused his attention solely on Jim Gordon. He allowed his gaze to settle on that deliciously long, slim torso, and he pictured his fingers trailing up and down its length. His eyes traced the outline of the man’s iconic mustache. He could almost feel the rough, bristling sensation sweeping across his own skin. He yearned to smooth out the furrows on the other man’s brow. He wanted to slide his hands up Gordon’s chest, neck, and face, and into his hair. The man had taken off his suit coat and hung it over the back of his chair. He had rolled up his shirtsleeves, exposing wiry forearms. Strong. Perfect for bracing himself against the bed, the kitchen counter, the office desk, the backseat of the car. Wayne gladly took in the way Gordon’s veins, muscles, and bones worked underneath the pale and surprisingly smooth skin. It was all so hypnotizing…

 _Wayne,_ his conscience warned him. _Watch yourself._

 _This is all Jim’s fault,_ Wayne thought. Now he wanted to know more than ever what Jim Gordon felt like in his bare hands. He wanted to see Gordon out of that suit. He wanted to know if the rest of him was like that—

 _Wayne…_ his conscience warned once more.

 _Just a minute. I’m almost done_ , Wayne replied. He wondered what it would be like when he could take Gordon to bed, stretching him, opening him, and possessing him utterly. Would he be naturally responsive? Would he be rough? Wayne smirked. He’d seen Commissioner Gordon many a time take charge and plunge headfirst into a police situation—and damn the consequences.

 _No pun intended, of course_ , an annoying voice coughed politely.

 _But of course_ , Wayne responded with a naughty grin. But was that what Gordon would be like? Or, would he be tender and a little hesitant? Quick and thorough? Slow and sensual? Reverential? Wham, bam, thank you, ma’am? All of these? Wayne truly wanted to know. He was _dying_ to know. He gazed once more at the man. Gordon sat in the warm sunlight, and Wayne could see a single bead of sweat forming at his temple. He could tell it was about to come down the side of Gordon’s face, into his neck, and even lower past his collar. Wayne slowly leaned forward to lick it away—

 _Wayne!_ the same, annoying voice interrupted once more. Only this time, louder and more persistent. _Knock it off! He’s looking at you funny. You’re gonna scare him off._

Wayne quickly snapped out of his daydream. Sure enough, Gordon was giving him an odd look. He waved a hand in front of Wayne’s face.

“Bruce?” he asked worriedly. “Everything okay?”

Wayne quickly broke out a disarming smile. “Sorry, Jim, I was just thinking.”

Gordon nodded understandingly and returned to picking at his food.

 _Surprisingly pliant,_ Wayne considered. _I wonder how that transfers over into bed_.His cock jumped once more. _The man has no idea what’s coming to him_ , he thought impishly. _Oh, Jim._ Wayne was about to explode, and he looked up at Gordon once more. _Oh, shit._ The man looked a little uncomfortable at the attention he was receiving. Wayne thought he could see the tips of his ears turning red, but all he could think of were ways he could help put a matching blush on Gordon’s face. He could picture that blush spreading down to his neck and trailing down to his—

“Bruce,” began Gordon. A crooked smile appeared on his face, and he continued, “I hope you don’t mind my asking, but, er, is there something on your mind? You’ve been a little quiet today.”

 _You have no idea._ “Could say the same about you,” Wayne replied with more than a touch of irony, and Gordon gave a rueful smile. He grew silent once more. Wayne asked, “Well, how am I usually?” He placed his elbows on the table as he waited for the older man’s response.

Gordon straightened up in his chair. He was back on familiar ground, and the detective in him took over. “Well, you’re usually very, um, enthusiastic. You talk a lot, make a lot of gestures with your hands. A lot of winking, a lot of smiling, and you know, a lot of flirting.” Gordon picked his fork back up and shrugged. “You’re not being your usual self.”

Wayne had to agree. He _had_ been a little preoccupied. But… flirting? Ah, so Gordon had been watching him as well. Perhaps he was not as oblivious as Wayne had originally thought. “Well, I was just thinking.”

“About?” Gordon prompted.

Wayne had been waiting all day for an opening. He looked meaningfully at a couple sitting a few feet behind Gordon. “Them. Wait, don’t—”

But Gordon had already automatically spun around, and Wayne just rolled his eyes. _Now_ that _was subtle_ , he thought sarcastically. He watched as Gordon blatantly studied the two men in question, and he turned back to Wayne with a look of confusion.

He frowned. “What about them?”

Wayne decided to turn the question back on Gordon. “What do _you_ think about them?” Just as he had the day before, he held his breath as he waited. Their future hung on Gordon’s answer. He saw the moment realization finally dawned, and it showed on the other man’s face.

“Ah.” Gordon looked over once again. “Well, I don’t know.” It was a non-answer. “What do _you_ think?” He attempted to put the ball back in Wayne’s court.

Wayne barely managed a flippant laugh. “That’s what I’m asking you!” But he could already see Gordon’s brain at work, and the older man’s eyes narrowed a little. _Here it comes._

“Okay.” Gordon put down his fork. He looked at Wayne across the table and deliberately crossed his arms in front of him. Wayne flinched at that. “Bruce, I don’t think I’m in any position to judge anyone.”

“I’m not asking you to ‘judge,’” Wayne answered calmly. “I just want you to look at them.”

Reluctantly, Gordon turned around and observed the table in question. And he finally noticed what Wayne wanted him to see. The two men looked happy and content. There was definitely some flirting going on, but it wasn’t for show. The two men just seemed to fit well together. Like two well-matched pieces of furniture. Or, two pieces of fine art that perfectly complemented one another. They looked exactly like how two people in love should. A fierce pang of pain shot through his heart. He thought of Barbara. They were once like that. Two young lovers completely oblivious to the rest of the world. They were poor, living in a small house filled with second- and third-hand furniture, but they were happy. They had each other, and that was all that mattered.

So, where did it all go so very wrong?

He turned back around, and he felt overwhelmed by the emotions he had unleashed. He swallowed hard, and he dared not trust his voice to speak. But Wayne was looking at him patiently as if he truly wanted to know what he had to say. Gordon dimly remembered his wish for a friend. Wayne looked like a good enough candidate. The man didn’t have anything to do with Gordon’s occupation, and Gordon felt he could afford to be a little more carefree and relaxed away from the precinct. Wayne didn’t seem to mind his company too much. In fact, it was quite the opposite. And Barbara was always telling him he was too quiet and that he never let her in on his thoughts. He looked up at Wayne once more and determined to learn from his mistakes. Gordon forced his mouth to move. The words came out thick with emotion. “I may not feel completely comfortable with… it… people doing things… but I don’t believe it’s my—or anyone else’s—place to tell someone what they can do behind… with their personal lives.” He stopped his rambling and gathered his thoughts. He concluded, “Life is too…” He thought of Barbara and what he wished for her. He thought of what he wished for his own children. He thought of what he wished even for himself. He doubted if it were even possible, and he wasn’t counting on it. He finished simply, “Everyone deserves to be loved.”

He could feel his face growing warm. He sounded so corny. _Well, it was nice while this lasted. Bruce probably regrets bringing me out here. Oh, well._ He figured it was only a matter of time before the fun-loving billionaire would get bored with the prudish commissioner. He glanced at Wayne to gauge his reaction, but Wayne was looking at him thoughtfully. Gordon fidgeted a little.

He hastened to add more of his thoughts to avoid what he perceived to be an uncomfortable, tense silence. “My father used to say, ‘The world was built for two.’” His mind unexpectedly thought of the Batman, and he met Wayne’s eyes directly. “Who am I to begrudge anyone’s right to happiness? No matter where they find it.”

Wayne solemnly nodded. “I agree. Well put, Jim.”

Gordon smiled in relief and let out a breath he had unconsciously held in.

Wayne just smirked at him and looked a little too pleased with the other man’s answer. The billionaire knew he was pushing his luck, but since they were on the topic… “So, how about you? Do you think you’ll find happiness again?”

A myriad of emotions flickered over Gordon’s face. Surprise at the question, determination to answer it, pain at memories and past experiences, and then finally, what Wayne was looking for, _hope_.

The crooked smile was back on Gordon’s face, and his voice was laced with emotion. He tried to sound flippant, but it came out a little too quiet. “Maybe.”

Wayne tried to draw him out. “Maybe?”

Gordon regretfully admitted, “I wouldn’t count on it, though. My life is a little… complicated.” He rubbed the back of his neck in a nervous gesture. He couldn’t believe he was talking about his personal life to Bruce Wayne of all people. “I can’t see myself with anyone else right now. I, um, can’t see myself finding someone else anytime soon. Much less finding someone who could understand all—” he gestured vaguely with his hands—“ _this_.”

Wayne nodded sympathetically. _This,_ he knew, meant Gotham. It meant being a police commissioner. It meant fighting crime at the front lines of battle. It meant forcing himself to understand the criminal mind. It meant getting his hands dirty in the process. It meant emotional trauma and sleepless nights. It meant dealing with freaks and psychopaths. It meant dealing with attempts on his life and his family’s. It meant the city pulling him in different directions. It meant fighting for his soul and sanity. It meant life or death.

Gordon added, “I don’t think I could ever put someone through this again. It wouldn’t be fair. It wouldn’t be right.” He fiddled with his ring, a sure signal to Wayne he was thinking of his ex-wife. “So, I’m not looking—if that’s what you’re asking.”

Wayne glowered. That’s _exactly_ what he was asking. But apparently, Gordon had learned his lesson the hard way. _Barbara would be_ so _pleased_ , Wayne thought darkly. Suddenly, this wasn’t just a game anymore. This was all too real.

Nevertheless, he put on his best façade. “Nonsense, Jim! I know several lovely ladies who’d be more than willing to give it a try.” He gave Gordon a playful wink. “I could introduce you if you’d like. A double date, perhaps?”

Gordon’s eyes widened in alarm. “Er, no, Bruce, really, that’s not necessary.” He looked incredibly nervous at the prospect. “Please, don’t.”

“There’s something incredibly sexy about a man with a gun,” Wayne flirted outrageously. Gordon looked taken aback, and Wayne quickly added, “Or, so I’m told. I met this beautiful girl the other night. A real Brazilian beauty. Her name’s Izabel. You should give her a call.” Wayne reached into his pocket as if to pull out his cell phone.

Gordon smiled weakly. “No, thank you.”

“Not Brazilian?” Wayne looked at Gordon as if to size him up. “Too exotic? Do you like European women better? Tall and blonde?”

Gordon stammered, “N-no…”

“Name it, Jim. I can set you up.” Wayne looked at him knowingly. “Anytime.”

The older man flushed. “I don’t know… my children… their mother and I… I don’t think it’s a good idea… what if they see me…”

“You can pick and choose. Canadian, Australian, Indian, German, Italian, Irish, Malaysian, French, Romanian, American, British...”

But Gordon seemed to be catching on to the ridiculous turn their conversation had taken. “I’m afraid, Mr. Wayne, I’ll have to decline your most generous offer.”

Wayne was ridiculously pleased with the answer. He shrugged. “Your loss, Gordon.”

Gordon hung his head in mock remorse. “I suppose I’ll just have to content myself with these little lunches with you.” He grinned and picked up his fork to enjoy his meal.

He said it in such a teasing manner that Wayne froze. He looked at Gordon carefully to see if the man actually said what he thought he’d heard. “Jim?” _Dear God, please tell me he wasn’t joking…_

“Hmmm?” Gordon’s fork was already halfway in his mouth, and obliviousness had firmly reasserted itself on his features. It surrounded him like a shield of incorruptibility. Wayne was completely speechless.

He muttered, “Nothing.” _Two steps forward, one step back. What the hell am I doing?_

Gordon shrugged and went back to eating.

Wayne went back to watching.


	3. Chapter 3

“Eat up, Jim,” said Bruce Wayne.

It was now Friday, their third lunch ‘date’ in a row this week, but Gordon showed no excitement at the prospect of finally concluding yet another busy week. Wayne sighed. He studied the man some more and watched as the older man ate sparingly. Jim Gordon was far too scrawny for his liking. He could easily break him in half, but as much as the thought excited him, Gordon, in Wayne’s estimation, truly needed to put on some weight and gain some much-needed strength. The man needed to take better care of himself—for his own sake as well as the department’s.

 _And mine as well,_ Wayne added shamelessly, and his body perked up at the thought. Then he sighed. Gordon wasn’t ready for any of that, and only time will tell if he ever would. Wayne could admit that quietly to himself. The older man wasn’t even aware of the possibilities. No, not _yet_ , Wayne hoped. It was going to take a lot of time and effort on his part to gradually mold Jim Gordon into the man Wayne needed him to be, but he would do the best he can with what he had. Wayne could cultivate this friendship. He could start there. He’d take what he could get to draw closer to Gordon—for now. The dark thoughts he had concerning Gordon, him, and the bedroom— _oh, if Jim only knew!_ —were quickly shoved back into the box.

As the two finished lunch, Wayne lifted his glass of lemonade. In a booming voice, he said, “A toast, Jim. To new beginnings!”

Gordon reluctantly raised his glass as well and met his. He smiled his familiar, slightly crooked smile and gave in. But he did not echo the toast. Wayne noticed, but he did not dwell on it. It was too soon to make light of the divorce. Perhaps on paper, it was final, but from where he sat, Gordon was still holding on. It was too soon to encourage Gordon to move on and try to find someone else—namely, _him_. Gordon carried all too plainly the sense of loss, guilt, and failure.

Once again, the seemingly impossible aspects of this venture struck home. Another man, after a crushing blow such as that, might have rushed blindly into another relationship. But this wasn’t just any other man. This was Jim Gordon, and Wayne felt he knew the man better than anyone else. Some might accuse Gordon of lack of courage for not trying, but Wayne knew better. The man was no weakling. Far from it. Underneath those kind eyes, pleasant smile, and gentle demeanor lay the heart of a fighter. Gordon was not perfect—the man himself would be the first to admit it—but he diligently _worked_ at it, with character and decency leading the way. Wayne knew he could trust in Gordon to continue doing just that if and when their relationship ever came to be. If and when _that_ ever happened, Wayne would consider himself a thoroughly lucky man.

He thought of Gordon and Batman’s relationship. That had started out tentatively as well. Batman gained the sergeant’s trust, but once it was earned Gordon never took it back. Not many things went smoothly in their fight against crime and corruption, but Gordon stuck firmly with Batman through thick and thin. In the process, the officer rose in ranks from sergeant to lieutenant to commissioner. _I did that_ , Wayne mused. He recalled the moment he first saw Jim Gordon when he returned to Gotham. The man looked tired and beaten down. The recollection made Wayne wince. He looked across the table at Gordon now. The older man had blossomed into something much more. Somewhere along the way, the man had picked up self-confidence and a quiet determination as well. _From outsider to leader_ , Wayne considered. _I did that. I gave him that. I gave him hope._ Batman had done the work of molding, but Wayne gladly took all the credit now.

He considered the hand he and his alter ego had played in Gordon’s transformation. It truly was an amazing thing, and the change did not go unnoticed by Gordon. The older man had clumsily tried to thank him, but Batman insisted he would never have to.

But Gordon had, anyway. The then-lieutenant put in the long hours, waking up before the crack of dawn and then working up until the wee hours of the morning to keep Batman company. Perhaps it was out of a need to demonstrate his gratitude. Perhaps it was out of a need to show his partner they were most definitely _two_. Batman could have told him it was unnecessary and that only one of them had to be an insomniac, but Gordon would not be deterred. Wayne had found himself appreciating the older man more and more. He thought he knew what made Gordon tick, and not surprisingly, he was right. The realization that Gordon was exactly how he appeared did not disappoint Batman at all. Oh, Gordon could be amusing and his attempts at wry humor in tense moments were much appreciated, but his transparency combined with his overall integrity and decency of character shone brightly like a comforting beam of light. The man truly was Batman’s vision of a better Gotham personified. Batman had once considered that even if that bat signal ever malfunctioned, he’d still have Gordon standing there waiting for him. And that was all he’d ever need. He was right. Steadfast loyalty in uncertain times—Batman found himself looking forward to their secret rendezvous. From what he could tell, Gordon did as well.

But then came the night of the bachelor auction. There was just something wrong about seeing Gordon standing on that stage looking woefully out of place and incredibly awkward that set Wayne’s teeth on edge. Wayne had never seen that side of him before. After everything the man had done and suffered for Gotham, he stood on stage like a slab of meat ready to be given to the highest bidder. Wayne did not approve. He’d looked around him. The furious bidding war for Gordon had escalated to a fever pitch, and as his price tag climbed higher and higher, Gordon looked more and more painfully nervous. Wayne could only imagine what panicked thoughts Gordon was thinking as the older man sweated it out.

 _Steadfast loyalty in uncertain times_ … the man deserved to have his loyalty rewarded. A man like Gordon didn’t deserve to be paraded around like a spectacle, and it was only quite natural Batman should come to the police commissioner’s saving rescue—

 _Right, Wayne,_ his conscience interrupted sarcastically. _You just keep telling yourself that. Forget all the dirty thoughts you’ve been thinking about the man for months. A slab of meat, heh. You said, ‘tasty’ slab of meat, remember?_

 _Shut up,_ he insisted. _I was saving him! That’s what I do._

 _Saving him for_ yourself _, you mean,_ his conscience scoffed. _Tell me you weren’t thinking about him in… that way. Oh, don’t deny it. You know exactly what I’m talking about._

Wayne fell silent, and his conscience cheered in silent victory. _Wayne and Gordon sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N—_

“You know, Bruce, I was thinking…” Gordon began tentatively.

“About what?” he answered, quickly pulling himself together.

_…-G. First comes love. Then comes incredibly hot and hard-pounding sex. Then ‘comes’ Wayne in…_

_Shut up!_ Wayne screamed internally.

The older man looked at him in mild condescension. “You still thinking about those models?” he asked, making reference to yesterday’s ridiculous conversation.

Wayne groaned in response even as his conscience laughed hysterically at them both. _Damn!_ “Are _you_?” he asked pointedly.

Gordon looked startled. “N-no!”

“Good. Better not be,” Wayne muttered under his breath. He was still pouting at the fact that the other man thought he was _safe_.

But Gordon was frowning. “What’d you say?”

“Nothing,” Wayne quickly replied. “You were saying?”

The other man began again, “Well, next Thursday I’m golfing with the mayor and the fire chief. I’m supposed to bring someone with me…”

Wayne’s pout quickly vanished. _Was Gordon actually asking him out?_

 _Dream on,_ his conscience snickered.

Wayne ignored it. “And?”

Gordon grimaced in return. This was yet another event he was most definitely _not_ looking forward to. Another obligation he would have to drag himself to. First, he didn’t even know how to golf, but he’d figured if he could swing a bat, it shouldn’t be too difficult to swing a club as well. Second, he couldn’t think of anyone who’d be interested in going with him. He’d asked Gerard Stephens and Harvey Bullock if they wanted to go. Both men responded they’d rather shoot themselves in the foot. Not that he’d ever ask her, but even Montoya looked at him in pity.

He looked at Wayne. “Um, d-do you like to golf?” He held his breath.

“Of course!” Wayne grinned. Actually, he’d never golfed before in his entire life, but how hard could it be? A little coordination, a little balance, a little control, a little strength—all in a day’s work. A piece of cake.

 _Of course, he would_. Gordon rolled his eyes. _What else did he do with his spare time?_ “Well, it’s next Thursday morning. Six o’clock tee time.” He could see the younger man mulling it over. “I know it’s very early in the day,” Gordon rushed to avoid putting Wayne in an uncomfortable position. Lord knew he’d been in many himself. “But you don’t have to go. It was just a thought. You’re a very busy man. So, really, you don’t have to—”

Wayne stopped him, “No, no, no. I’d love to. Just… wow, that’s early.”

Gordon looked hopeful. “Yes, I know, but the sooner we start, the sooner it’ll be over. Then I can get back to work.” He paused. “So, um, do you want to be my partner?”

 _Partner, heh._ Wayne briefly pondered replying with, _Are you asking me out?_ But that wouldn’t do. He decided on, “Yes, count me in.”

“Great!” Gordon grinned, and enthusiastic relief showed on his face.

Wayne was absolutely delighted at the turn in events. “Jim, I didn’t know you golfed,” he remarked offhandedly. Truly he didn’t, and he felt slightly betrayed. When did the commissioner find the time?

Gordon suddenly looked self-conscious. “Um, actually, I don’t. I don’t think I’ve ever actually held a golf club in my hand. It’ll be my first time.”

 _First time, heh._ “Ah,” said Wayne a little too smugly. The less lascivious part of his mind conjured up images of wide-open, manicured fields, birds chirping cheerfully in the trees, the sun rising peacefully in the distant horizon—and Gordon standing in the middle of it all, scratching his head with one hand and holding up a golf club in the other in complete bewilderment. _Oh, Jim._ And the rest of his mind pictured Gordon in pretty much the same manner, only in a more intimate setting and Wayne there right beside him. The Gordon in his mind turned to him, one hand scratching his head and the other hand on his cock, and asked, “Um, so, uh, where do we, ah, what should we do, er, put this thing?” Wayne couldn’t help it. He burst out laughing.

“What?” Gordon looked annoyed. “What’d I say now?”

Wayne just laughed harder, and Gordon folded his arms across his chest in displeasure. He looked around them and saw others taking notice of them two. He leaned forward and hissed, “ _Be quiet!_ ”

The younger man now had tears in his eyes. Gordon waited patiently until Wayne was done laughing at… whatever it was he was laughing at.

“Are you done?” he asked pointedly.

The younger man attempted to catch his breath. “Almost.” He looked at Gordon’s face and started up again. Several seconds later and then, “Okay, I’m done now.” _Oh, boy._

Gordon calmly picked up where he left off. “So, anyway, if we could meet at the precinct around—”

“What’s wrong with meeting at your place?” Wayne grinned maniacally. _Early hour like that, I should probably spend the night._

Gordon ignored him. “—at the _precinct_ around 5:30—” the billionaire flinched at the earlier time “—then we can drive together to the country club.”

“Sounds good,” the younger man readily agreed.

“Um, do you have my phone number?” asked Gordon. He looked at Wayne expectantly.

“Yes.”

Gordon was immediately suspicious. “Wait, how did you get it?”

 _Oops._ “I mean, no.” Wayne shook his head clear. He scrambled quickly for an appropriately misleading response. He thought of using Marge as a cover, but—her disapproving face flashed briefly in his mind—he quickly discarded that notion. “I mean, what? Huh? What’d you say?”

Gordon studied him for a second. He asked slowly and deliberately, “Bruce, do you already have my number?”

“Isn’t it, like, 9-1-1?” Wayne responded in his best village idiot manner.

Gordon automatically rolled his eyes. “Yes, Bruce. Whenever you need me, just dial 9-1-1, and I’ll come running with bells and sirens on.”

“Very funny. Ha, ha. No need for sarcasm, Commissioner.” Wayne pulled out his cell phone and made a big show of getting ready to punch in Gordon’s phone number. Never mind that the man’s home number, cell phone number, and office number were already programmed on speed dial. “Ready when you are, Jim.” Gordon patiently gave him his cell phone number, and Wayne obediently typed it in and clicked a button to save it. The phone beeped, indicating the number was already listed in his phonebook. Of course, it was. “Got it.” He felt ridiculously giddy.

Gordon reached into his pocket and pulled out his own phone. “Should I get yours, too? Just in case?” he asked hesitantly. He hoped he wasn’t being presumptuous.

Wayne giggled inwardly. Gordon was actually asking for his phone number. Someone should take a picture. “Sure.” He recited his number and Gordon dutifully entered it in. Wayne sat back and smiled widely.

“What?” Gordon finally asked. He put his phone away and picked up his fork.

“You don’t golf.” It was a statement of truth.

“No, I don’t,” Gordon admitted. “But how hard could it be? You stick the ball in the little hole.”

 _Ball in the little hole… How hard could it… watch it, Jim. Heh,_ he smirked. _Come closer and I’ll show you just how ‘hard’ it is._ Instead, he responded, “Well, what were you planning on doing when you got there?” He pictured Gordon standing under the warm sun, skin turning slightly pink from the exposure. He thought of sweat and heat. And he thought of Gordon leaning over and the back of the man’s neck bared enticingly to him in an offering of vulnerability. He could imagine himself reaching out, and his breath hitched when he allowed his fingers to linger there a bit longer.

Gordon looked at him in puzzlement, but he answered the question matter-of-factly, “I’m going to show up, get it over and done with, and then I’ll go back to work.”

Wayne sighed dramatically. “Oh, Jim. It’s not a civic duty. You gotta learn to enjoy yourself once in a while.” He looked at the older man’s pale appearance pointedly. “Seriously, you need to get out more.”

 _A little hypocritical, aren’t you_ , his conscience rebuked him, sounding eerily like Alfred.

 _Not really_ , Wayne responded. Thanks to these little outings with Gordon, he could afford to be a little sanctimonious these days. _See, Alfred? I_ do _listen to your nagging… sometimes._

Gordon might have been offended, but not when it came to the truth. He was a certified workaholic. He squirmed slightly in his seat. “Well, what do you suggest I do?”

Wayne quoted as if by memory, “Start pretending to have fun. You might even have a little by accident.”

Gordon just raised a skeptical eyebrow.

Wayne sighed. “Jim, I’ll teach you how to play. Who knows? You might even like it.”

The man now looked uncertain. These lunches had taken a little while to get used to, but now they were beginning to stray from his comfort zone. “Bruce, I don’t know about that. I—”

“Sure, you do. Come over tonight after work. We’ll start with putting.” _Better call Alfred and let him know to buy some golf equipment._ He thought for a moment. _Make that_ used _golf equipment._

“To the penthouse?” Gordon’s eyes widened. Then he cursed his bold reply. Wayne’s penthouse was the hub of high society. He personally had never been there, but he knew invitations to Wayne’s residence were as good as gold in Gotham’s economy. Only Gotham’s elite enjoyed that privilege.

“One Gotham Plaza,” confirmed Wayne.

Gordon already knew the address. _Everyone_ did. But still. “I don’t know, Bruce…” Having lunch with Bruce Wayne was one thing. Going over to the man’s home for an evening golf lesson was something else.

“Come on, Jim,” the younger man urged him. “Live a little.”

Gordon still looked doubtful, but he accepted. “Er, okay, I guess.”

“Great! It’s a date!” Wayne exclaimed, and before Gordon could gape at him, he hailed a passing waiter. “Check, please.”

“Yes, Mr. Wayne. Right away, sir.” The waiter rushed off to do his bidding.

Gordon immediately reached for his wallet.

“Uh-uh,” Wayne said as he held up a hand to stop Gordon. “My invite, my treat.” And before Gordon could protest, he added, “You got the last one, remember?”

But their lunch appointment last Friday wasn’t anywhere the quality and price of this meal. Compared to this, the cheap Chinese food they had at the corner deli barely qualified as edible.

Gordon opened his mouth to argue, but Wayne interrupted. “You can get the next two, I promise.”

Gordon closed his mouth. _Fair enough_ , he supposed, and he made a mental note to pick something other than a hot dog stand or sandwich shop for their next two appointments. “Okay, Bruce.” He leaned back and sipped on his raspberry iced tea. He’d thought Wayne looked pleased when he’d ordered it earlier—a noticeable departure from his usual intake of coffee or water—and he’d mentally patted himself on the back as well for trying something new. He watched as Wayne signed for the check.

The younger man closed the little leather folder shut. He glanced at his watch and then up at Gordon. “You ready to go?” He moved to stand, but Gordon shook his head no.

Wayne raised a questioning eyebrow. “We need to get going, Jim. You’re going to be late.”

“I think I can stay out a little longer today.” He immediately cursed his awkward wording, but he waited for the other man’s reaction.

Wayne comically let his mouth drop in half-shock, half-amusement. “Are you sure?”

Gordon dryly responded, “I’ve seen the way you drive. I think, for the health and safety of Gotham’s citizens, we can take our time on the way back.”

Wayne looked thoroughly pleased. “Will your schedule allow it?” But he already knew the answer. _Thank you, Marge,_ he added silently.

Gordon answered, “I think so.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. His agenda for the day. “I’m free until three o’clock today.” A little too convenient and a little too suspicious if one asked him, but he wasn’t about to look too closely into that. He dared not question his secretary. Not if he knew what was good for him, anyway.

“Free?” Wayne was skeptical. This did not sound like the Jim Gordon he knew.

Gordon looked sheepish. “Well, I was planning on coming in earlier tomorrow and catch up then.”

Wayne had expected that, but he let it go. _One step at a time._ It was best not to look a gift horse in the mouth. He gave a casual shrug. “Sounds good to me. Let’s try some dessert.” He hailed for the waiter once more. “My friend and I would like to see the dessert menu, please.”

At the mention of ‘friend,’ Gordon beamed. Bruce silently groaned. He could think of other, more intimate names he could use for Gordon, but—he sighed dramatically once more—he might as well start there. Better than nothing.

He settled back in his chair to observe Gordon covertly, but he was surprised to see Gordon was watching him closely as well. The older man slowly removed his suit jacket and draped it across the back of his chair. He loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt. Wayne could see the top of his undershirt peeking through, and then Gordon deliberately rolled up his shirtsleeves and pushed them past his elbows. He sat back casually, a man at ease in his surroundings. All through this, he kept his eyes firmly trained on Wayne’s.

Wayne sat up straighter in his seat. _Well, well, well… what’s this?_

Gordon sipped his tea calmly and looked across the table at Wayne as if he were searching for something. His blue eyes took in Wayne’s posture and demeanor, and Wayne could see the policeman at work, methodically cataloging and analyzing everything about him in one thorough sweep.

Wayne gazed back at him with some difficulty. He’d yearned for far too many nights to have Gordon looking at him like this. And to have it happen here, so soon—this time, Wayne felt his own face growing warm. He cleared his throat nervously. “W-what are you thinking about, Jim?”

“Nothing,” Gordon carefully replied, not giving anything away.

“Is that right,” Wayne said softly. He licked his lips slowly.

“That’s right,” the older man confirmed, but a mysterious smile hovered on his lips. He let his fingers play with the tall glass of tea in front of him, and Wayne’s eyes couldn’t help but fix themselves on those long, pale fingers caressing the side of the glass. It was hypnotizing… Then Gordon quickly jerked his hand back. Startled, Wayne looked up and met Gordon’s amused eyes.

“What?” Wayne asked defensively.

The older man shrugged. “Nothing.”

But realization had dawned. Wayne could see that. He waited for the older man to erupt in full-blown hysterics, but there was none forthcoming. The waiter arrived and placed a menu in front of each of them.

Gordon took one glance at it and said, “I’ll have the banana phyllo sundae” he looked over at Wayne “—and my _friend_ here will have the dark chocolate fondue.”

Bruce was dumbstruck. It was exactly what _he_ would have ordered. The waiter left, and Gordon sat there with a knowing smirk on his face.

 _Damn,_ Bruce thought. This just got complicated. Or, did it?

“So…” he began.

“So,” Gordon quickly replied, still watching the younger man closely.

 _Oh, shit._ Wayne groaned. He was completely thrown off his game plan. He scrambled for something to say. Gordon was letting his mysterious smile do all his talking. And now there was an added wicked glint in his eye.

 _Damn you, Jim Gordon._ He stared at his companion through narrowed eyes. Gordon’s eyes showed playfulness and amusement at the younger man’s discomfiture.

_Tables turned so quickly, eh, Wayne?_

_I don’t think so_. “What are you smiling about? Got someone on your mind, Gordon?” He said with more than a hint of insinuation.

Gordon pleasantly smiled back, taking his sweet time finishing off his drink. “And what if I did?” He was watching closely for a specific reaction.

Wayne immediately broke out his best ‘billionaire playboy airhead’ act. He winked conspiratorially. “Izabel, right?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Listen, Jim. Let me tell you something about Brazilian women…” He leaned forward and launched into an outrageous tale no one would ever believe—not unless it came from Bruce Wayne, world-renowned billionaire playboy. Gordon looked distinctly uncomfortable, but like a fool, Wayne let his mouth babble on inappropriately through dessert and the walk back to the car. Gordon laughed and smiled at all the right places, but his eyes showed self-doubt and confusion. And it only grew as Wayne’s story grew longer and bawdier.

And it wasn’t so much the story that he minded. It was just that… just when Gordon thought he’d figured something out for himself, he’d gotten it completely wrong. It shouldn’t have bothered him at all, but as they drove back in silence to the precinct, all he could think was, _Barbara was right. I’m a failure. I can’t get anything right._ His heart ached at the emptiness he felt. He looked down at the wedding band on his finger, and hurt flared up once more.

Wayne looked over and saw what Gordon was doing. He cursed himself repeatedly for his stupidity.

 _Nice going, you idiot,_ his conscience berated him. _What are you gonna do now?_

This time, the “playboy” didn’t have an answer.


	4. Chapter 4

Jim Gordon sat in the front passenger seat, the fingers on his right hand playing wistfully with the worn wedding band on his left. Then he swallowed hard, folded his hands together, and looked determinedly out the passenger window. His face carried no emotion, but the despair clearly seen in his eyes told a different story.

Bruce Wayne cursed himself once more. He brought his foot forcibly down on the gas pedal, and the car jumped, jolting both its passengers out of their stupor. The car shot forward at lightning speed, and Wayne shifted into the next gear with a loud screech. He tore through downtown Gotham like a maniac, zipping in and out of traffic and pushing all the boundaries.

Gordon gasped, “Bruce, watch out!” He hung on for dear life. “The light, the light!”

“I see it,” replied Wayne calmly. “Relax, Jim.”

The car came to a screaming halt at a busy intersection. The resulting force was enough to give both men whiplash. Then the light turned green, and Wayne floored the accelerator once more. They lurched forward as the engine roared loudly in their ears. Within seconds, the Lamborghini easily pulled up in front of the GCPD precinct.

Wayne looked over at his passenger for agreement. “That was fun, huh?”

Gordon was still gripping the sides of his seat. He gradually let go, but he was still breathing hard. The look on his face revealed the exhilaration, speed, and adrenaline he felt. Wayne laughed out loud in pure delight.

“Jim? You okay?”

The older man reluctantly nodded, a hand now gripping his still-pounding heart. A shaking hand reached for the door handle, and he turned to Wayne and opened his mouth to thank him, but surprisingly, the younger man killed the engine and took off his seat belt.

At Gordon’s questioning look, he replied, “I don’t have anywhere else I need to be for at least a couple of hours.”

Gordon just shrugged. “Sure. Come on up.” He exited the vehicle, and Wayne trailed after him. They walked together into the precinct, up the stairs, and straight into Gordon’s office. Upon entrance, Gordon quickly glanced at the clock on his desk. The time showed 2:23 p.m. He breathed a sigh of relief, and privately, Wayne rolled his eyes, having correctly predicted the commissioner’s first response when he returned from his extended lunch break. He knew Gordon was already mentally calculating how and when he should make up those twenty-three minutes the following day.

“Do you usually work on Saturdays?” he asked.

“Sometimes,” Gordon responded, but in truth, it was more like _always_ ever since Barbara and the kids left.

“Do you have to?”

Gordon froze. The conversation had turned slightly uncomfortable for him. He kept a neutral tone of voice. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason.” Wayne took one of the chairs in front of the desk and sat down. Gordon removed his suit coat and hung it up on the coat rack. He settled into his chair behind the desk and pulled out his agenda for the remainder of the day.

Wayne continued his examination. He asked casually, “What time do you usually get in, Jim?”

“Around seven, sometimes earlier,” replied Gordon, not looking up. He hoped Wayne would drop this line of questioning. It reminded him too much of Barbara, and the dull pain in his chest returned.

“And what time do you clock out?”

This time, Gordon looked up. He knew exactly where this was going. He replied politely, “Depends.”

Wayne rephrased the question. “What time are you _supposed_ to leave?”

Gordon mumbled, “Five o’clock.”

“I see.” Wayne looked displeased. “So, you normally work twelve- to sixteen-hour days, and you’re worried about twenty-three measly minutes? You couldn’t take a longer lunch break?”

Gordon replied a little defensively, “I need to set a good example.” But they both knew it was only partially true. Gordon felt his shoulders tense. This was a familiar battleground between him and Barbara. He already knew what the miserable outcome of this conversation would be. He rubbed the back of his neck in frustration. He said patiently, “Look, Bruce—”

But Wayne wasn’t even paying attention. Gordon watched in disbelief as the billionaire stood up and absently wandered around the office, picking up and carelessly putting back down whatever piece of décor caught his fancy. The older man immediately felt himself relaxing. He let his fists unclench on top of his desk.

Wayne looked troubled. “Can I ask you a question, Jim?”

“Shoot.”

“You know, I’ve always wondered, can your officers _really_ clock my speed while I’m driving? I mean, come on. That’s ridiculous.”

Gordon sat back in his chair in amusement. “Yes, Bruce. Yes, they can.”

The younger man looked at him in askance. “I don’t think so. You’re lying to me.” He absentmindedly set down a picture frame upside down, and Gordon winced as it promptly fell over and knocked down two others beside it. “I think _your_ people are out to get me. I’m a _very_ good driver, you know. _You_ of all people should know that.” Wayne turned around and looked at him with such pure innocence that Gordon had to laugh.

“No, Bruce, they’re not out to get you. They can follow along behind you and ‘pace’ your speed. And yes, I’ve seen the way you drive. My officers are doing their job, thank God,” Gordon smirked. Wayne opened his mouth to protest, but Gordon stopped him. “Yes, it _is_ legal. And for your information, Mr. Wayne, police vehicle speedometers are calibrated from the factory and rechecked at least annually.”

Wayne sat back down in a huff and crossed his arms in displeasure, muttering something about his hard-earned tax dollars going to waste.

Gordon couldn’t help himself. “Also, if they have onboard radar, they can have it turned on and then again ‘pace’ you and look at their vehicle speed, and that will also be your speed.” Wayne still didn’t look convinced. Gordon went on, “Our officers are trained in these techniques, and it is all court admissible as a valid speeding ticket charge.”

Wayne pouted childishly. “That’s bananas,” he said, dismissing Gordon’s claims. “Who do I complain to about this?”

“You’re looking at him.” Gordon grinned unrepentantly.

Wayne opened his mouth to retort when Marge suddenly buzzed in. “Excuse me, Commissioner.”

Gordon was still looking at Wayne when he responded, the mirth evident in his voice, “Yes, Marge?”

In a carefully even tone, the woman responded, “Barbara Gordon is on the line for you, sir. She says it’ll just take a minute.”

Gordon’s smile vanished, and the playful atmosphere in the room was quickly dispelled.

Wayne’s mock pout turned into a glower as the atmosphere abruptly changed. _Three’s a crowd_. He hated doing it, but he mouthed to Gordon, _Should I go?_

Gordon shook his head firmly. _No, stay._ He paused for a moment to collect himself, and then he picked up the phone. “Hello? Hi, Bar—… yes, I did… I had Marge send the papers out by courier earlier this week… no, no, I didn’t forget… you should get it by—… I see… honey, how are y—… yes, yes… I’ll send that over to you… yes, right away.” He shifted the phone to his left shoulder and reached for a notepad and pen. “Okay, I’m ready… yes… yes… anything else? Okay… got it… how are—… yes, honey, I wrote it down… I’m sorry, it’s habi—… listen, are the kids—… okay, guess I’ll talk to you later. Please tell them I lo—… can I—… Barbara? Hello?”

But the line had already gone dead. Gordon silently replaced the phone back on his desk. He looked up and saw Wayne watching him silently.

“She had to go somewhere. She’s very busy,” he said unnecessarily. Wayne just looked at him, and Gordon instinctively defended his ex-wife, “It’s hard on her, too.”

 _Didn’t sound like it_ , Wayne wanted to say, but he held his tongue.

_Silence._

Gordon looked down. The hurt was written plainly on his face. Soon enough, guilt, loss, and despair appeared as well. The ache in his heart felt like death. He cleared his throat, but his voice came out thick with emotion. “Listen, Bruce. Can I, uh, take a rain check for this evening?”

Wayne nodded. “Sure, Jim.” He barely succeeded at hiding his irritation. It wasn’t directed at Gordon, but what had taken Wayne several days to build had just been destroyed in less than a single minute.

Gordon rubbed his forehead with his left hand, and his wedding band caught Wayne’s eye once more. “I should get back to work.” It wasn’t an outright dismissal, but it was close enough.

Wayne frowned and got up out of his seat. Gordon stood up as well, and they shook hands across the desk.

“Have a good day, Bruce.”

“You, too,” Wayne murmured and left the office. He gently closed the door behind him to give Gordon some privacy. He couldn’t help but feel the pain as well. _So, that’s what a broken heart looks like._

He caught Marge’s eyes on his way out. She looked at him apologetically, but Wayne gave her a reassuring nod. Then he made his way back to his car in dreary silence.

* * *

Later that evening, Jim Gordon stood on the precinct rooftop. It was late. His shift had ended hours ago, but he didn’t want to go home. What was there to go home to, anyway? He was alone.

As the evening had worn on, he could sense the growing concern in his officers’ eyes. They seemed to say, _Go home, Commissioner. Please_. But only Montoya had the nerve to say it to his face. “It’s Friday night, Commish. Get outta here. Go home.”

But he couldn’t. _Home? What home?_ So he’d stayed and buried himself in his work. And when the oppressive silence of his office grew too much to bear, he came up here. He stood overlooking the city. _His_ city. She was beautiful. He closed his eyes and took it all in. The muted sounds of activity below, the twinkling lights scattered all around him, and the distinct chill of the night air—it reminded him of better, more hopeful times. He needed this moment of tranquility.

It should have been comforting.

He breathed in deeply, and without warning, the dull pain he’d carried all afternoon intensified into a sharp, stabbing pain. It gripped him like a vise, and his chest threatened to explode. He couldn’t breathe. _God, it hurt_. He cursed his weakness, but the sorrow and anguish were too overwhelming. Emotional, psychological, physical—it all caught up with him and knocked him down to the ground with a powerful blow. He looked up helplessly at the dark, cloudless sky overhead. There was not a single star in the sky. It was empty. Desolate. Bleak. Isolated. Exactly how he felt inside. His hand reached out to pull himself up, but he let it drop back down in surrender. He couldn’t go on like this much longer. It was killing him.

In the lonely darkness, he finally allowed himself to break. Tears streamed down his face, and they continued to come even when he willed himself to hold them in. He wept for Barbara and all the hurt and unhappiness he’d given her. He’d made far too many mistakes with her. Some honest, some innocent, some immature—but all costly. He wept for his children. What would happen to them now? It wasn’t their fault. It was all his doing. They didn’t deserve this. Had he just made the biggest mistake of his life? It didn’t matter anymore, did it. It was too late now. He was a failure.

He wept uncontrollably on his knees until he was exhausted and there was nothing left.

* * *

Batman stood silently in the shadows. He’d watched powerless as Gordon literally fell apart in front of him. He watched as the man now crawled toward the shattered bat signal and slumped, exhausted, against it. It tore him up inside to see Gordon like this. No man should have to suffer such agony.

 _He needs me…_  
  
_Does he?_ His conscience tested his motives. _Does he need what you want to give him?_

Wayne fell silent. His mind went back to the night of the auction when the long-suppressed thoughts he’d had concerning the older man for months had abruptly pushed to the surface. They could no longer be ignored. And when Gordon had let down his defenses with him backstage that evening, Wayne had been drawn to him as if he were absolutely transfixed. He wanted to see that openness and trust once more. He’d wanted even more from Gordon that night, and the evening had been pure torment for a man like him who usually and easily got what he wanted. He’d wanted Gordon, but he hadn’t taken him right then and there. He _could_ have attempted something, but it wouldn’t have been right.

_But that was then. This is now._

That night, Wayne realized he could save Gordon. And he did. He could do it tonight as well. The man was completely and utterly vulnerable…

 _Not yet, Wayne_ , his conscience warned. _Don’t do this._

 _But he needs me_ … Batman took one step forward. Suddenly, the door to the rooftop swung open. He quickly stepped back into the shadows even as Gordon spun around toward the sound.

* * *

“Who’s there?”

It was Detective Gerard Stephens. “Hi, Jim. Thought I’d find you up here.” He was dressed in casual clothes. He looked like he’d gone home and come back.

Gordon quickly wiped his face and staggered to his feet. He cleared his throat. “What is it, Gerry?”

“Nothing,” answered Stephens. He stood there a little uncertain. “Maybe you could use some company?” He held up a six-pack he’d brought with him.

Despite himself, Gordon had to smile at the thoughtful gesture. Stephens shrugged and walked over to where Gordon was standing and sat down, making himself comfortable on the ground. Gordon looked a little surprised, but after a beat, he sat back down as well. Stephens opened up a can and passed it over to Gordon. The latter took one look at the label on the can and gave a sharp laugh.

“You brought me _root_ beer?” he asked incredulously.

Stephens laughed. “What? I gotta work tomorrow. I can’t show up late and drunk. My boss can be a real pain in the ass.”

Gordon shook his head. “You’re crazy.”

“Maybe a little,” Stephens admitted.

They sat there in companionable silence, drinking their sodas.

Minutes passed before Gordon finally spoke, “Do… do you still keep in touch with Sheila?”

Stephens thought about his ex-wife and chose his words carefully. “Yeah, I call her up sometimes and check up on her. Or, she calls every now and then and asks how I’m doing.” It was obvious what was on Gordon’s mind, and he let the man dictate the flow of conversation.

_Silence._

Then Gordon asked, “How is it? You and her.”

“We’re good. It was hard at first. It was for the best, but—”

Gordon hated that. _It was for the best. It wasn’t meant to be_. He hated hearing it. He hated, even more, saying it. He interrupted Stephens, “Do you miss her?”

“Sure. Some days more than others. Some days I go through the whole day without thinking about her once. Other days, she’s all I think about.”

_Silence._

Stephens saw the opportunity and spoke, “Sheila and I, we loved each other, and we still do. There are a lot of strong feelings there, a lot of history between us. Things like that just don’t go away. If you truly love someone, they’re always gonna be a part of you. If it was _real_ , it should. I mean, I still have feelings for her. I’m not gonna lie. It took both of us a long time to deal with the divorce. There was a lot of hurt and anger. But we learned from our mistakes. In time, we forgave each other. She’s my best friend. I know it doesn’t seem possible right now, but time does have a way of healing.”

Gordon softly replied, “Or, so they say.”

Stephens readily agreed, “Yeah. Easy to say, but a helluva lot harder than it looks.” He looked over at Gordon, but the man was looking up into the sky once more. Stephens knew Gordon would never confide in what he was feeling. Talking about whatever he was going through wasn’t the Jim Gordon he knew, but Stephens had learned how to read him. Right now, the man just needed a friend, and it might as well be him.

“Are you all right?” he asked tentatively.

A long pause. And then a barely audible “Yeah.”

“Hang in there, Jimbo.” Stephens slung an arm around the other man’s shoulders and gave him a brief squeeze. “You’ll make it.”

Gordon kept his gaze firmly at the sky above. Stephens sat beside him, finishing up his drink and keeping him company. Gordon reluctantly smiled at the use of his old nickname. When he was a rookie, one of the veterans had started calling him that, and it caught on quickly. Gordon considered himself lucky. It could have been worse. He turned to Stephens.

“Do you remember when we were rookies and one of the older fellas started calling me that? What was his name?”

“Oh, yeah,” Stephens remembered. The change in the conversation didn’t faze him at all. “It was… um… I can picture his face… that old guy… his desk was in the back corner… a big guy… man, what _was_ his name…” He thought hard. “Robertson!”

“Yeah, that’s him,” Gordon agreed. “Detective Robertson. God, I hated it when he called me that. The other guys thought it was hilarious. I didn’t get it. It’s just a nickname. No more than ‘Jim’ or ‘Jimmy.’”

Stephens started laughing.

“What’s so funny?”

“Actually, Mr. Commissioner, if you must know, it started out as ‘Dumbo.’ Robertson said when he saw you running around with your ears sticking out, it reminded him of that damned elephant.” Stephens doubled over in laughter. He sputtered as he tried to catch his breath. “Dumbo! I almost forgot about that.”

Gordon wished he hadn’t asked. He hadn’t known about that part. “My ears don’t stick out.” A hand self-consciously reached up to check. “That’s ridiculous.”

Stephens argued, “Yes, they did. Don’t you remember you used to wear your hair in a crew cut? And then you had those big, old glasses.” He chortled, “Dumbo!”

“Gee, thanks a lot, Gerry,” Gordon said with more than a touch of sarcasm. He waited until the chuckling died down. “Whatever happened to that guy?” he wondered.

“Robertson? He retired. Last I heard, he moved to Montana to be with his grandkids.”

“That’s good,” said Gordon, and Stephens nodded in agreement.

They fell silent once more.

“Well, you’d better not tell Montoya,” Gordon said, half-joking, half-serious.

“Don’t worry, _Jimbo_ , your secret’s safe with me,” Stephens snickered. “It’s gonna cost you, though.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” Gordon smirked. He looked at his watch. It was nearly midnight. “You’d better get home. It’s late.”

Stephens looked at him pointedly.

“Go home, Gerry,” Gordon repeated. “I’m just gonna finish up here, and then I’ll go.”

Stephens didn’t budge.

“I _promise_ ,” added Gordon, and that was good enough for the detective.

“All right, Jim.” Stephens got up to his feet and headed toward the door.

“Hey, Gerry?”

“Yeah?” He turned around.

“Thanks,” said Gordon. “Thanks for, um…”

“No problem. Let me know if you need anything, Jim.”

Gordon nodded, and Stephens left.

Gordon remained where he was for a little while longer. He glanced at his watch again and slowly got to his feet. He picked up the remaining cans of root beer and turned to leave the rooftop. He stopped by the broken bat signal and allowed his hand to rest on it for a moment.

“Take care, my friend.” He left the unopened cans there and opened the door to leave.

“Gordon,” a familiar rasp called to him.

Gordon spun around. “Batman!” Surprise, relief, and gratitude showed on his features. “What are you doing here?”

Batman replied, “How is everything?”

Facing his partner and ally, Gordon showed almost none of the maelstrom that was swirling in his life. It was in his eyes, but his voice responded strong and sure. “Very good. Everything’s under control. It’s been quiet.” He wanted Batman to know he could be relied upon. “I haven’t heard of anything brewing. Just the usual petty things.”

Batman nodded, looking out at the city lights below them. Gordon did the same, half-expecting the man to disappear as soon as he turned away.

But the vigilante remained standing beside him.

Gordon studied him. After all they’d gone through, he knew so little about the man behind the mask. He wanted to know more about him. Did Batman have a family waiting for him back home? Or, was he as lonely as Gordon felt right now? Did Batman know what it felt like to have the rug pulled out from underneath him? Did he know what it was like to have the whole world come crashing down on him, knocking his breath out of him in a single blow?

Gordon wanted to reach out and connect with the man. But they stood there in silence, side by side, overlooking all of Gotham. It was the city he had unwittingly sacrificed his marriage and family for. And possibly, his life and any hope of future happiness. He looked at Batman once again. He realized perhaps the other man had made his own sacrifices, too. Gordon felt a strong connection to the man—not only as his partner in the ongoing struggle for Gotham’s soul but in life as well.

Gordon pondered. Maybe Batman had a wife who hated what he did. Maybe he had children who looked up to him. Children he was terrified of ever disappointing. Did he have friends? Friends who could tease him mercilessly as Montoya did. Or, ready and steady like Bullock. Or, someone like Stephens who’d invite him out for a drink after work. Gordon hoped he did. After all they’ve suffered, surely both of them were overdue for something good.

He looked at Batman once again. The man was still there. It was probably the longest meeting they’d ever had. Quite possibly longer than all the others combined. Regardless, Gordon was glad for the company. The city looked so peaceful beneath them, but they knew better. The evil that lurked in her dark alleys, the horror that transpired in the dead of night as well as the heat of the day—but things were getting better. And right now, everything seemed right. Just the two of them standing guard over Gotham. A Gotham he’d wanted his children to enjoy.

His heart broke once more.

Gordon broke the silence. His voice came thick with emotion. “So, what now?”

Batman laid a warm hand on his shoulder, and the simple gesture shook Gordon to the core. He tried not to flinch as Batman regarded him with characteristic intensity.

“Only time will tell.”

Gordon could only nod in response. _Time, the great healer_. He felt the comforting weight on his shoulder leave him.

“Go home, Gordon,” Batman spoke in his familiar rasp, and then he was gone.

 _He does that,_ Gordon remembered telling Dent. Dent before he became unhinged. Dent before he nearly murdered Gordon’s boy. Dent before he had fallen from grace. The same Dent who’d uttered, “The night is darkest just before the dawn.” Gordon finished it for him, _The dawn is coming._ He looked out to the horizon. _Not yet, but it will. Soon_.

His heart still hurt, but not as much as it had earlier that evening. The pain was no longer so piercing and immobilizing. Dawn was coming. It had to—sooner or later… right? But nothing was guaranteed. _To love and to cherish, till death do us part._ His world was changing little by little every day. Could he venture out into this brave new world? He wished he had someone to help him and show him what to do.

A voice in the back of his head whispered softly, _Bruce Wayne._

Gordon wasn’t surprised. “We’ll see,” he answered out loud. “We’ll see.” He turned and left the rooftop.

* * *

The following Monday, Jim Gordon came in at his usual time—the crack of dawn—to report for duty, and Bruce Wayne waltzed in at _his_ usual time—a few minutes before one o’clock—to collect the commissioner for lunch.

He burst into Gordon’s office and greeted him with “You look like hell, Jim.”

Gordon rolled his eyes in response, but he didn’t deny it. “Thanks, Bruce.” He grabbed his jacket from off the back of his chair and followed Wayne out the office door. As they walked through the bullpen, Gordon suddenly grabbed his arm to stop him.

“Wait a second. I want to introduce you to some people.”

Wayne raised an eyebrow. _Well, well, well… this is new._

“Just humor me, would you?” asked Gordon, misinterpreting the questioning eyebrow for uncertainty.

“Sure.” Wayne carelessly shrugged. _Interesting…_

Gordon led him to a middle-aged man working at his desk. “Bruce, I want to introduce you to Detective Gerard Stephens. Gerry, this is Bruce Wayne.”

Stephens looked a bit bewildered, but he quickly recovered and gave Gordon a pointed look as if to say, _I’m not stupid._ _I_ know _he’s Bruce Wayne. Duh._ He stood and held out his hand. “Hello, Mr. Wayne.”

Wayne shook the offered hand. It was like being introduced to the family. _And this must be the protective older brother_. He recognized the wariness in the detective’s posture, but still, he cheerfully exclaimed, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Detective. Please, call me Bruce.”

Stephens didn’t reply. He looked at Wayne thoughtfully as if to correctly place the man in the right compartment in his mind. _What does he want with the commissioner? What’s he trying to pull here?_ He thought Wayne looked aware of exactly what he was thinking, and the billionaire’s charming smile quickly surfaced to disabuse him of that notion. _Not so fast, Mr. Wayne,_ Stephens thought. Nevertheless, he gave Wayne a most pleasant smile in return. _Two can play at this game._ He waited until Gordon’s back was turned, and then he gave Wayne a cool, assessing stare. _I’m watching you, Wayne. I’m onto you._ Wayne’s phony smile remained, but he met Stephens’ eyes in brief acknowledgment.

Gordon continued his introductions. “And these are Detectives Harvey Bullock and Renee Montoya. Detectives, this is Bruce Wayne.”

Bullock looked slightly bewildered, but he stood politely to shake hands with Wayne. The two men sized each other up. Like Stephens, Bullock regarded Wayne with suspicion. _What’s this all about?_ He smiled amiably at the billionaire, but the look in his eyes clearly sent the younger man a message of warning. _Don’t think about trying anything funny._ Wayne smiled weakly in return.

And then came Montoya. Wayne recognized the mischief in her eyes. A kindred soul if ever there was one. The female detective did not look surprised at all. Smug was more like it. She’d been keeping track of their lunch appointments on her private calendar, and reluctantly, she’d found herself admiring the billionaire’s panache and persistent hounding of the commissioner. It should do wonders for Gordon’s ego—that is, if he had one.

“Detective, it’s a pleasure to meet you. And please, it’s Bruce.”

Montoya didn’t need to be told twice. “Okay, Bruce!” Stephens and Bullock shot daggers at her, and she purposefully ignored them. “Where are you two off to today?”

Gordon interrupted before Wayne could reply. “Bruce, we need to get going.”

He pushed Wayne out the door, and the billionaire cheerfully waved goodbye. Stephens and Bullock just looked back at him. Montoya waved back.

* * *

As soon as Gordon and Wayne left, Montoya spun around and addressed her two fellow detectives. “What’s wrong with you two?”

Stephens replied flatly, “I don’t trust him.”

Bullock added, “Me, neither. I think we should warn the commissioner. You never know…”

Montoya sat down in a huff. “You big galoots! It’s Bruce Wayne, for Christ’s sake. Gotham’s own airhead billionaire playboy.”

“Exactly,” Stephens said pointedly. “Look, Jim’s going through a really tough time right now. What the hell does Wayne want with him, anyway?”

Then suddenly all three fell silent, each one imagining nearly the same thing.

They avoided making eye contact with each other for the rest of the day.

* * *

As Wayne and Gordon made their way down the stairs, Gordon slyly remarked, “You’ve already met Marge, I presume?”

The insinuating tone in Gordon’s voice caught Wayne unawares. The man wasn’t as oblivious as he’d like to believe. Or, was he? Wayne couldn’t quite tell. But if that was the case, then this game was getting more and more interesting by the day.

He wisely declined to answer. As they exited the precinct, he led Gordon to a sleek, black sedan. An elderly man climbed out from the driver’s seat and opened the rear passenger door for them. Gordon stopped in surprise.

“No Lamborghini today?”

Wayne smirked. “Why? Did you want to drive it?”

Gordon shyly admitted, “Maybe.”

The younger man laughed. “Next time, Jim. I promise. But today, I brought someone I wanted you to meet.” They approached the elderly man who was still waiting patiently by the car. “Jim, I’d like you to meet Alfred Pennyworth. _My_ keeper.” He gave Gordon a sly wink. “Alfred, Commissioner Jim Gordon.”

The butler extended a hand for Gordon to shake. “It’s an honor, Commissioner.”

“Please call me Jim,” Gordon responded as he shook the older man’s hand. Alfred just smiled enigmatically, and Gordon stood there awkwardly until Wayne pushed him into the vehicle. Wayne got in after him, and then Alfred shut the door resolutely and climbed back into the driver’s seat. “Where to, Master Wayne?”

Wayne turned to Gordon. “Where to, Jim?”

Gordon remembered he was buying lunch today. “I want to try something new.”

“Oh, really.” Wayne smiled in approval.

“Yes, really,” Gordon firmly acknowledged. “But you choose.”

“Okay. If you say so.” Wayne leaned forward and gave Alfred the name of a new restaurant a few miles up the road. Alfred gracefully merged the vehicle into traffic, and they were on their way.

With the three of them in the vehicle, Gordon felt unaccountably nervous. Wayne appeared completely relaxed, and Alfred drove calmly up front. But in the intimate compartment of the vehicle, Gordon felt he didn’t have much freedom to engage in candid, back-and-forth banter with Wayne. He suddenly realized every encounter he’d had with the younger man had just been the two of them—that is, until now. He met Alfred’s eyes in the rear-view mirror and flinched noticeably. The older man was obviously more than just the chauffeur or butler. He was watching Gordon as well, observing and cataloging every little nuance and detail about him. The butler had been very polite thus far, but Gordon knew he was being analyzed. It felt like a job interview. But for what? An interview for what position?

Bruce looked worriedly at him. “Jim, you okay? You’re a little quiet.”

“I’m fine,” he replied shortly.

Of course, he was. Especially when every word he said or didn’t say was being analyzed. He met Alfred’s eyes once more. Yes, the man was most definitely watching him. How had Wayne introduced the man? His _keeper_. A watchful guardian.

 _A chaperone is more like it,_ Gordon grumbled. _Wait, what?_ But he couldn’t deny he felt like a junior high boy on a date, forced to keep his hands to himself under the stern eye of his date’s chaperone—he mentally slapped himself. _What the hell are you thinking, Gordon?_

They sat in silence all the way to the restaurant.

* * *

“So, what do you think about Alfred?” Wayne asked as he unfolded his napkin on his lap. He took a sip of water from the glass in front of him. “Jim?”

The older man thought carefully about his words. He decided on “He’s very, um, polite.”

Wayne laughed as if he were hysterical. “Oh, Jim.” He quickly ran his eyes down the menu. “Let me guess, you’re going to order the four-cheese ravioli with roasted tomato glaze.”

Gordon surprised him. “Wrong. I was thinking about the chicken parmesan.”

Wayne raised an eyebrow in surprise.

Gordon shrugged, “You know what they say, Bruce. Change is good for you.” He smiled at his companion across the table.

Wayne leaned back in his seat in delight. “Is that right, Commissioner Gordon.”

“That’s right, Mr. Wayne,” replied Gordon.

Wayne knew he was pushing his luck, but he did it, anyway. He raised his glass of water in the air. In a booming voice, he said, “A toast, Jim. To new beginnings!”

Gordon raised his glass as well and met his. He smiled his familiar, slightly crooked smile and echoed the toast. “To new beginnings.”

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted 02/01/2009 through 02/14/2009 on LiveJournal and possibly FanFiction.Net.
> 
> Cliché #24 in Jim Gordon’s Life As a Series of Clichés.


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